


Club

by high_life



Category: Daft Punk
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/high_life/pseuds/high_life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a blonde boy she has seen once, maybe twice. She thinks he might be a DJ.  (Reader/Thomas)</p>
<p>Multi-chaptered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There's a steady _boom boom boom_ of the beat that makes the brightly coloured jackets around her shiver in excitement, smoke unfurling from bony hands and blown through chapped lips. The music does something wonderful to her; it plays up and down her spine with delight and settles in her stomach with pulsing finality, as if yes, this is the place and she belonged here.

She's nobody really. She works at a bookstore during the week, or maybe she's a waitress at a downmarket cafe that serves loud tourists and old men. She graduated last year, two years ago, never at all. Blonde hair with brunette tips, curly black hair or cropped short. It doesn't matter. Only the thrum of the bass and the clink of jewellery on her wrist is all she feels.

Perhaps she is lying to herself in some sort of way; as delicious as the music is, she has an agenda. Last week - or was it last month? - she saw something that caught her eye and her breath all at once. Around the dark corners of the alleyway behind the club, she had been leaning against a graffiti-covered wall. As usual, she needed the feel of fresh air on her cheeks and the crisp taste of the night. And so she had come outside, drink handed to a friend and a cigarette bouncing around in her pocket. She wasn’t sure if she was going to smoke it or not – maybe she wasn’t a smoker at all – but the shape of it was pleasing to her fingers as she stroked it this way and that. As soon as she had pressed herself up against the wall, the cool texture of the bricks soothing to her hot skin, a put-put-put of an engine sounded to her left. With curiosity she looked as a bright pink, tiny little thing of a car had rounded the corner and come to a lilting stop just short of her black boots.

And then the lankiest boy she had ever seen had stepped out and ruffled a head of bleached curls.

She had thought about saying something, doing something. But she was entranced as she watched him dip into his car – his _bright pink_ car – and retrieve a suitcase full of records, some threatening to spill out of the flimsy zippers and two clasped under his arm, that all she could do was gape. The prized possessions were placed on the pavement before a set of headphones joined them, and then two, three pieces of equipment followed. She knew enough already; he was a _DJ_. A boyish, almost _lost_ looking DJ who seemed to regard his pile of things as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing at all, before somehow gathering it all in his arms and locking his car with a kick of his foot. He had turned then and her breath had stopped entirely as she registered on his view.

He smiled.

_Brilliantly._

And then he was gone through another door and that was that.

She had thought about that smile far too much to be healthy.

At work she wonders his name, his place. What he does during the day. How old he is, how many years of university he survived before succumbing to a life of night excursions. Or maybe he was still at university; studying by day, playing by night. At home she imagines about the glimpse of the blonde curls, what they feel like, how many on his head there could be. Did he count them once out of boredom? Did he bleach his hair one day out of pure interest? In bed she dreams about him. Dreams about the long hands around the records, doing other things and holding other things and the way his smile pressed into the corner of his cheeks and what those lips would look like shaped into a perfect O and –

She realizes then that she has a problem to fix.

Stomach full of anticipation, she hands her I.D over to the looming bouncer as people chatter behind her in the line. She’s never been to this club before; it’s the one next door to her usual haunt, and she knows it only by it’s reputation for underground music from across the seas.

And for being the club _he_ had disappeared into.

Determination licks her core.

Inside the club is dark, dank. Cigarette smoke hangs in the air above her and she breathes it in, enjoying the second-hand nicotine hit and the way it curls into her lungs. Her clothes will be soaked with the smell by morning, but she doesn’t care. She has important things to do.

“Do you know who’s playing tonight?”

She toys with the straw of the cheaply mixed drink passed over to her from the bar once she acclimatizes to her surroundings, spotting a group of girls similar to her in age and dress. A shorter girl with blonde pig-tails smiles at her in such a way that she’s almost caught off guard.

“You’re in for a real treat,” The pig-tailed girl says breathlessly and then giggles. The other two girls nod knowingly. “Two weeks in a row, I feel so lucky!”

A tingle of excitement bounces around her insides.

“This DJ played last week?” She ventures cautiously as if everyone knew her dirty little secret.

“ _This DJ_!” The curviest of the three repeats with a wild laugh. “You don’t come here much, do you?”

Before she has a chance to reply, the pre-recorded mix of music that had been filling the dark space comes to a halt and a cheer rises up amongst the building crowd. The group of girls clamber towards the stage in a fit of frazzled exhilaration and somehow she finds herself swept up with them and mere centimeters away from the raised booth. 

And then it happens.

She’s not sure if he had been behind the booth all along or he had appeared in some epiphany of sheer brilliance, but she doesn’t care because from beneath the mop of blonde curls he raises his head and _grins_ at the crowd. _Grins_ , as if he’s about to unleash the most feral of beasts upon breathless worshippers, and somehow the confused, befuddled boy from the backend of the club is gone and replaced with an omnipresent force of musical nature.

If only she knew.

For the next two hours of her life she is so enraptured, so enthralled by the music pulsing around her that she forgets where she is, what she is doing, what she wants to do. The bass thrums with such force that she feels it in every inch of her body, shamelessly under the command of the fingers that dip and dive over the dials, sending new waves of melodies across the small space and converting every last sinner in the club. The music that spins from the blonde-haired boy raises and falls and crashes and bangs and it’s a kaleidoscopic rollercoaster of sound that she can’t escape – and doesn’t _want_ to escape.

She is too far gone to realize that from above the booth a pair of brown eyes flick to her between every change of a record; in her state of bliss she is being watched. Eyed with growing curiosity. Curls are slick against a forehead of sweat but a gaze steadily drinks in her form and begins a trail of thought not unlike her own.

It’s only with a gasp of air when the last note hangs with finality that she stops, skin soaked with perspiration and feeling as if every muscle in her body is alive. The stage darkens and noise erupts around her in protest but it’s over, it’s done. It’s _happened_.

Soon a water bottle is passed to her and she takes it gratefully as she slowly descends down to earth. For a moment she stands there, not aware of her surroundings as the liquid replenishes her throat and colours bounce behind her eyelids. Her ears are blown. Everything sounds like a low muffle to her but she senses the girls chattering and exchanging breathless words. “Amazing – “ “Better than last week – “ “oh, those curls – “ “- wonder if he’ll be back?”

For a moment they comfort her and she relinquishes control of her senses as she breathes, eyes shut and body leant against the side of the stage.

The excited babble stops abruptly and a hush falls around her.

She blinks, opens her eyes to the dim, emptying club and then every single nerve in her body freezes.

“Did you girls have fun?”

Headphones slack around a thin neck and a jacket tied around his waist, the blonde boy – the _DJ_ \- balances on crouched knees from the stage above with a 2000 watt smile. His question is posed to the group but his eyes rest firmly on _her_.

“It was _breath-taking_ \- !” One of the girls lights up immediately and places her hands on the side of the stage.

“You were so good, _so_ good!”

“Your sets are always the best, better than anybody else’s around here – “

A round of chatter sets off again as they congregate around him, cooing words of appreciation, _adoration_ but all she can do is clutch the water-bottle tighter as brown eyes slip regrettably from her form. She watches as he then grins at the girls, nodding and even ducking his head shyly at the praise before he re-adjusts his position and seems to gather himself together.

“There’s a party not far from here,” He starts and fishes a hand into his pocket to produce a crumpled flyer. “You should all come along – “

The pig-tailed girl reaches expectantly for the paper but it misses and lands directly in _her_ hands instead. Eyes shine with a hint of uncertainty but are almost over-pouring with hopefulness as he meets her gaze.

“ – if you can.”

She bites down on her bottom lip.

Now that he was lit a little better, she allows herself the chance to commit the blonde boy more fully to memory. Soft, pink lips shine with perspiration and the motion of him licking across them, their shape curving into a bow below a sharp, aquiline nose. The curls on his forehead were drying with a slight frizz, meeting peach fuzz on either side of his cheeks. A set of dark sideburns peak out below the curls and give her a hint to his actual hair colour – so he _had_ bleached it. She finds this oddly charming and without thinking she _smiles_.

“So I’ll see you there?” His voice gains momentum.

She thinks she says _sure_ , or maybe _yes_ or _okay_ but she is much too enclosed in the moment of him smiling down at her and his gaze travelling and flicking every which way and _oh no_. The familiar jolt of anticipation is back in her stomach and in that second she wants nothing more than _him_.

He moves away then with a promise safely tucked away and she finds herself tugged by the group of girls towards the exit and onto a bus – or maybe a train – and cheap alcohol bought from the store. There’s talk of being invited to a party like this, how everybody who’s anybody in the music scene will be there and how lucky they are and how many cute guys will be there. She knows then that they saw the way he looked at her, and perhaps they’re not so bad after all for girls she just met at a club, because they whisper to her excitedly and press a bottle of champagne to her lips with cheers of success.

Half an hour later they stumble into a residential street, a looming apartment block emitting a soft thump of music. Fingers press into a gold-buttoned apartment number and then they are piled into an elevator to the 11th floor. She giggles from the champagne high – though she knows she’s no more than a little tipsy – and hands over the flyer to the person who opens the apartment door. A raised eyebrow and a flick of a hand later, and they are inside.

A promising throng of people welcomes them in; the lights are dim, low in an expansive maze of rooms, and she thinks then that she’s never been in a place like this before. Couples and groups litter the hallways and give way to a pressing crowd that’s gathered around a make-shift stage where a DJ spins, emitting a steady stream of pulsing sounds. The girls around her breathe noises of wonderment. Before she knows it, they’re off in different directions with targets in sight.

And then she’s alone.

She finds herself not minding as much as she maybe should.

Instead, she winds her way through the bodies and towards the balcony, picking up a glass of water on the way before settling herself against the empty railing. The cool air clears her head a little and she feels more steadied against the champagne in her system.

She downs the rest of the water and places it carefully on one of the tables before turning to go back inside. The music throbs and she lets it wash over her as she gently pushes her way through the crowd, her eyes scanning the muted lighting.

Around her people dance, chatter; in a world of their own with a steady beat of electronic babble as their soundtrack, a melody drifting in and out and surrounding pitched conversations that flow with the music instead of fighting against it. She begins to get lost in the atmosphere with the champagne still tingling her senses until a hand ghosts her arm and she turns in surprise.

“ _Salut_ ,” He breathes out.

A brown leather jacket now encasing his shoulders, he stands with his curls pushed back slightly and a waft of cologne emitting from his form. A shy smile plays on his lips and he bows his head to flick his gaze up at her, eyes darting back and forth and creasing at the corners.

“Salut,” She answers.

He looks _heavenly_. She can’t help but roam her eyes over his form, his height towering over her by a good few inches. Without thinking she breathes in slightly and lets his cologne wash over her; it reminds her of cinnamon biscuits and hot chocolate in a café tucked into a backend street. Her cheeks darken without warning.

“Do you want a drink?” He licks his lips and she watches his pink tongue dart out. She nods.

The shy smile widens into a cheeky, self-affirming grin. She finds her hand wrapped in his as he pulls her back through the throng of people, the cuff of his leather jacket brushing against her wrist and _oh_. His fingers are just as long as she imagined and they loosely clasp her skin, pads rubbing slightly and feeling the texture of her own.

He leads her to the empty kitchen with its checkerboard tiles and messy tabletops full of paper cups and empty wine glasses. Without hesitation he grabs for a bottle and two, fresh glasses from a cabinet – _did he know who owned this apartment?_ – and soon fills them with a dark, burgundy liquid.

His movements languid and long, he places one glass in her hands and raises his own.

“À votre santé,” Eyebrows flick up and lips quirk.

“ _À la votre_.”

She can feel his gaze on her mouth as she takes a sip of the wine, and she dares to meet it over the rim of the glass. Brown eyes darken underneath dimmed lights.

The blonde boy then leans his long form against one of the edges of the countertops and shifts the glass between his two hands, crossing one sneakered foot over the other.

“That was your first time, wasn’t it?”

Her eyebrows crease together in confusion as she takes the countertop across from him, matching his pose. His eyes never leave her form and dance with curiosity.

“My first what?” She counters.

“You go to that club next door usually,” He continues. “The scene there is very different, I have been in there once or twice. People dance a little crazier.”

Her cheeks darken again with a sudden realization.

“Were you watching me?”

The air changes abruptly and there is pink filling the blonde boy’s face and almost as soon as he had draped his form comfortably he was moving, straightening up.

“I’m sorry, maybe I have been too forward – “ He starts and places his wine glass to the side as a hand moves to the back of his neck. “ – it’s just that, I saw you the other week behind the club and – _then_ you were here tonight for my show, and I thought maybe you….”

The sentence trails off and she sees then the same unsure, shy boy from the dark corner who now almost seems to want to shrink into the darkness of the party and never return.

“No!” She exclaims quickly and places a hand on his arm. “No _no_ – I mean, I saw you too - “

When he doesn’t look convinced of not causing great offence, she takes a breath in and decides to be brave.

“I came to the club for you.”

The look on his face is of such relief that a smile spreads to his lips and the tension dissipates immediately from his body.

“ _Oh_ ,” He says softly and bows his head again in shyness.

“I wasn’t sure if you played there or not, but when I saw all that equipment – “ She adds and then stops as his eyes flick up to her with a sudden glint.

“ – You were watching me.”

Her hands find her wine glass and she takes a sip of the liquid as heat rushes upwards and threatens to sky rocket her temperature.

In return he laughs; a breathy, melodic push of air that’s high in his throat and dances up and down.

The music from the party echoes around the kitchen and there is the thrum of talk and laughter but all she can do is watch as he pushes himself up from the counter ledge. Long hands gently untangle her own from the wine glass, cinnamon fills her senses, leather presses against her arms –

He pauses. Brown eyes crease. The blonde boy then leans forward and places the most chaste of kisses against her lips.

It is brief, short but already she can tell the exact texture of him and that she wants to feel it again, and again and _again_. So she creeps a hand up to the back of his curls and scrunches her fingers just slightly and a soundless “ _oh_ ” forms on his lips in response. He breathes out and it catches in his throat.

“It would be rude to leave this party so soon,” The words blow against her cheek.

“We had a drink, didn’t we?”

Her fingers trace through the soft frizz of the hair at the nape of his neck and she indulges in the closeness of his body to hers, pressed against the cool marble. In reply she feels a shiver run through him.

“Do you want to - ?” He starts with a nudge of his nose against her cheek and the smallest of sighs.

“ – _Yes_.”

Every nerve in her body feeling on edge, she leans back to meet his lidded-gaze and is pleasantly surprised at the sight of his round, pink mouth hanging agape with a plump fullness.

Dark eyes regard her. Before she can react, hot lips are against the skin her neck and then gone with a pull of his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Out in the street a drizzle starts; water droplets catch on the ends of his curls and flicker under the street lamps. One, long hand is tucked into the pocket of his leather jacket and the other holds hers.

 

His strides are long, determined. The first steps out of the apartment block he doesn’t dare look at her, but then a grin starts to pull at his lips and his cheeks become buoyant against the cool air.

 

“You must think I’m crazy,” He laughs into the night.

 

“Why?” She ventures.

 

His head shakes in disbelief.

 

“I haven’t even told you my name.”

 

She doesn’t mention seeing his name on the flyer, or on the posters inside in the club. Or slipping from the lips of the girls around him. A name learnt second hand wasn’t the same – so she decides to humor him.

 

“I could be a, a – _mass murderer_!” He continues, the hand from his pocket splaying out in a sweeping gesture. “A mad man hiding as a DJ in the Paris night club scene!”

 

He turns to her and makes an impossibly silly face and she can’t help but laugh.

 

“ _How do you even know that was my car_? Maybe I stole it three hours before from a high-speed chase, or – or – “

 

Words stall in his mouth while his eyes glint with mischief, lips agape as he searches for something that seems to be on the tip of his tongue. But it’s gone, forgotten and he shakes his head again with cheeks flushed.

 

There is silence then, save for the pair of worn sneakers and boots clicking across the cobble-stoned street.

 

The night is empty, placid. A few stray lights linger on in the apartments above them, but the potted trees alongside the road could rustle in a sudden burst of fanfare and not a single window would crack open.

 

Air puffs out from his cheeks.

 

“ _It’s Thomas, if you wanted to know_ ,” His tone is sufficiently quieter when he leans his head close to hers, curls just brushing her forehead.

 

Across the other side of a metro station is a brick building, not unlike the others surrounding it but having the unique pleasure of holding one jumbled, dark room belonging to the blonde boy. Three staircases later, he leaves her side to delicately and deliberately step over the strewn contents of his apartment, hands padding over objects until they wrap around a cord and flicker a lamp on.

 

“Come in – “

 

Lips tug into a smile and he grasps her wrist and pulls her out of the door.

 

There is the unmistakable, _delicious_ scent of tension in the air and she feels like she is back in high school, giddy with the excitement of _boys_ and crushes and kisses stolen behind classroom doors. Only this time, she thinks, the stakes are higher. There is a boy in front of her, a tall boy with bleached blonde curls and a sharp, thin nose and cheeks rosy from the autumn chill outside. But he isn’t _any_ boy – no, this boy had caused a room full of people to voluntarily and happily surrender themselves to the sounds that poured from his fingertips, had exerted a sense of intrinsically terrifying power with every flick of a dial and had brought a club crashing to it’s knees from the sheer volume of his creation.

 

She wants to kiss him again.

 

“I’m sorry, it’s a bit messy – “ He pushes the words out under his breath with a quiet laugh. “ – I wasn’t expecting company.”

 

A bit messy equates to three tables shoved into one corner of the room and piled high with machinery she recognizes dimly, two bookcases haphazardly straining underneath a solid collection of records. Lined paper drifts from a couch to a bedside table to the floor, and a metal-rimmed bed takes up the opposite side with blue sheets half made. She suspects a kitchen off somewhere and a bathroom to the left.

 

“Here – “ He grasps her wrist again and tugs her gently towards the couch with fraying ends and mismatched upholstery. The littered paper is hastily collected together and placed on the bookshelf, and then he motions for her to sit.

 

Champagne long gone from her system and replaced with a rising anticipation in her chest, she traces his form as he dips across the room, watching as he sheds his brown jacket to reveal a clinging, grey t-shirt that scrapes up his back when he bends over an impressive sound system. A long finger plays at his bottom lip as brows furrow in concentration and then soft, lilting music gently fills the room.

 

He lifts his head and looks at her.

 

When he smiles, now, it is different. It is the smile of someone in their element. Their domain. She likens it to the grin displayed to his audience but there is something more irrepressible about it, something wholly confident and _secretive_. She realizes that this is a smile not meant for a crowd.

 

She half expects him to speak then, to talk about this or that or further explain the state of his apartment but instead the blonde boy sinks onto the couch next to her, presses a hand to her thigh and tilts his head to align full lips against her own.

 

There is no hesitation this time.

 

He kisses like he walks, with languid, slow strokes and a sense of determined purposefulness. There is strength to his movements, a knowing of where to go and how to get there; she is more than a willing participant. A soft gasp of air escapes from him when she weaves her fingers into his curls and pulls him closer.

 

His lithe form tangles with hers, long legs finding spaces to push against her in just the right way.

 

She responds hungrily; a chill resounds down her spine because this is _that_ boy, the boy from the alleyway and the boy who DJs and the boy who wants _her_. Without hesitation she slips her hands below the worn t-shirt and finds hot skin that shivers at her touch.

 

He breaks away from her lips with a pant.

 

“ _I wanted you_ ,” The words are haggard, deeper from his throat than the lighter, airier tone she had become familiar with. “Tonight – from the booth – “

 

There was something more that seemed to hang from his mouth, thoughts buzzing through his mind but unable to push through so instead he sinks himself against her and presses a hardness to her jeans.

 

That’s all she needs for exhilaration to rush through her body.

 

He had been _watching_ her, playing his set to _her_. Maybe the same thoughts flooding his mind. Wanting to touch her, to kiss her. To _have_ her.

 

She wants him right there and then.

 

Fingers clasp around his leather belt and down the buttons on his straining jeans and then she finds him, skin hot and hard and pulsing as a sigh expels through his wet lips.

 

Confidence floods her.

 

“ _Did you think about me_?” She counters, fingers brushing against him.

 

His bottom lip disappears between his teeth.

 

“Yes – - _ohh_ – “

 

No sooner had the word left his throat she grips him, feeling a width that belayed his lanky form and made her squirm against her jeans. His skin was tight, taunt and she feels the soft skin of his head with beads of hot liquid already forming.

 

“I – I didn’t even know your _name_ –“ An incredulous laugh that sounds in his throat is muffled by a wanting moan and before she has time to react he is up, pulling her with him through the lowly lit room and hands tugging her shirt above her head.

 

Lips press against the skin of her neck as fingers pull at her jeans, pushing them to the ground. He only breaks away to discard his own clothes with brown eyes fixed on hers with a gaze so steadily lidded with lust that she feels as though it’s her first time all over again.

 

He approaches her.

 

His voice is as close as it was in the kitchen of the apartment, but hands wander up and down her skin this time. “ – would you believe me if I said that I’ve never done _this_ before?”

 

Despite the bubbling anticipation coursing through her veins, the feel of _him_ against her thigh, the rising hunger in her stomach – she finds herself laughing and meeting his gaze.

 

“What, _fucked_ a girl?”

 

“I – _no_ – not _that_ – ah putain - “

 

His brows furrow and red threatens to flush his cheeks but she is quick to place a wanting kiss against his lips, guiding his hand towards the centre of her thighs. A low murmur sounds in the boy’s throat. Lips return to hover near her ear.

 

“You’re really _wet_.”

 

She nods, a thin thigh pushing against her as the back of her knees meet the soft edge of the bed. He climbs over her before reaching to the bedside table littered with notepads dotted with hastily scribbled memos ( _Thoughts? Ideas? She wonders briefly_ ). A rustle of a drawer later and a small, foil package is produced.

 

He is quiet, eyes never leaving her as the plastic rolls over his skin and conversations that she isn’t sure will ever happen hang in the air between them, unfinished and unanswered. She secretly hopes they will as his eyes flicker back and forth between hers. There, in his lidded gaze, she thinks she sees _something_ , something more that she maybe caught briefly in the club, the alleyway, the apartment.

 

He places a hand either side of her and pushes.

 

He fills her slowly, languidly. She can feel herself stretching in the most pleasurable way and suddenly she is full, her back arching and legs wrapping around his thin torso.

 

The blonde boy breathes out.

 

“I really wanted to _fuck_ you.”

 

There is a sudden intensity behind the deep brown of his eyes and she is instantly reminded of the cool, commanding presence exuding from his form in the DJ booth only hours before. The presence that made an entire room jolt with sharp rhythms and pulsating beats, that crafted tracks cavernous with pounding bass and stabbing synths and alienating whines. Whatever moment she had felt, whatever fleeting feeling that had begun to build in her chest was ripped away and replaced by something so _dominating_ in the tall boy that she couldn’t help the flush of excitement fill her cheeks.

 

She can see it then, the _want_ the _need._ She can see the shift from the shy, lilting boy into the powerhouse behind the booth.

 

_Only now_ , she realises, she was falling on the _darker_ side of his personality twist.

He rolls his hips back and begins a steady, agitating rhythm. She is breathless suddenly, the thickness of him pushing inside her but leaving her wanting more as his strokes were quick, shallow. An attempt to raise her hands to grasp at his waist is met with fingers curling around her wrists and pressing them to the bed sheets either side of her.

 

He smirks.

 

But it isn’t a _frightening_ pull of his lips; it is one framed with knowing, lust. _I know you feel it too_.

 

“You wanted me - ” He doesn’t question her, but she can see a rush of thrill in his form that dances to the very tips of his fingers wrapped around her wrists. “ – you came to the club for _me_ – “

Hips still as he retracts himself almost entirely, head playing at her entrance and she can’t help but lift her own hips to feel him inside her again.

 

“ – _didn’t you_?”

 

She opens her eyes then – not even remembering when they became squeezed shut in pleasure – and looks at him, darts her gaze back and forth rapidly against his brown pools. She can feel the blood pulsing under her skin and she wants him, wants him so _badly_.

 

“I wanted you to _fuck_ me.”

 

The words are under her breath because she doesn’t normally talk like this, doesn’t normally _fuck_ strange boys from alleyways that she follows into clubs and lets them have her way with her. But there was something different about him, something she couldn’t resist.

 

She wants to be there every night, drink in his form from below and watch the curls become slick against his forehead with sweat and concentration. She wants his breathless mouth on hers after he finishes with hands roaming all over her and begging to take her home. She wants whatever _this_ is, however long _this_ was supposed to last.

 

His gaze mirrors hers perfectly.

 

He moans deeply then, his head dropping to bury in her neck and finally pushes himself completely inside her with every stroke hitting perfectly against her back wall. She feels _all_ of him, feels suddenly the weight of far more than what she was expecting from a one-night stand with a blonde, curly-headed DJ.

 

Hands clasp at her waist now and she knows he’s close but she doesn’t care, feeling herself reaching her peak from sheer excitement of having him and nothing else.

 

One, _two_ –

 

Voice high in the boy’s throat – “Ah _putain_ – !“

 

Skin shudders and with rapid strokes he comes in her and suddenly arms are wrapped around her form and she is enveloped, enclosed.

 

She’s not sure how long they lay there for, chests pounding against each other and trickles of sweat between the creases of skin. The music is still dimly lilting somewhere off in the background and it slowly begins the fill the air as she feels herself gently, gradually floating down.

 

Later, with the doors of the window creaked open and the crisp air of the night filtering in, she watches him light a cigarette with deft fingers and exhale deeply.

 

“I don’t smoke,” He says with a tug of his lips and a glance to the cigarette.

 

“Well,” She begins with a glance out of the corner of her eye to the arm that drapes lazily around her shoulders. It’s warm, familiar. Even though it shouldn’t be. “That’s two things - - “

 

“ – _that I’ve already done_ , I know I know!”

 

The blonde boy laughs and shakes his head and eyes are towards the darkness outside but then they are on her, _regarding_ her, looking at her. _Really_ looking at her.

 

She knows he wants to say something, or to maybe shrug his shoulders and let words fall off his lips like they were in a terrible film and this was the closing scene. But she knows life didn’t happen like that. Moments weren’t perfect. But this moment had something about it that she was content with. Pleased with.

 

She smirks then, grabbing his cigarette.

 

“So, what do you do?”

 

\- - - - - -  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
